Some Towers
by ThePet
Summary: Being the sequel to 'Lord of his own ring'. Subtitled 'the adventures of Boromir's younger smarter brother'. Chap 6: Frodo and Sam meet Faramir!
1. So there’s this long pointless search fo...

Chapter One: So there's this long pointless search for Pippin and Merry…  
  
So the remainder of the Fellowship stood around wondering what to do with themselves.  
  
"Shit, Pippin and Merry have been kidnapped by orcs." Said Aragorn. "Let's waste a lot of time looking for them, because let's face it we're bloody useless to the plot now."  
  
"Right." Said Legolas and Gimli, who had taken to riding the same horse, suggesting that Elf Lily Savage had been correct in her prophecy. So the Intrepid Trio set off, examining the ground closely for hobbit prints and droppings. After a while of pointless searching, Legolas put his ear to the ground.  
  
"Horses come." He said.  
  
"How do you know?" Asked Gimli.  
  
"Ear all sticky." Replied Legolas.  
  
"You bastard!" Cried Aragorn.  
  
"Sorry, couldn't resist."  
  
The trio wandered along for quite a while and eventually stopped to rest; Aragorn and Gimli slept fitfully, and every time they awoke they could see Legolas wanking in the dim light.  
  
"You dirty bugger." Said Aragorn, and went back to sleep. When eventually the lazy bastards got on with it, they encountered some scary people on horseback – the interestingly named Riders of Rohan, who like most Men in the book looked like Boromir, which is no bad thing. They spoke the Common Speech of the West.  
  
"'E ba goom, 'oo bin yow?"  
  
"What?" Asked our intrepid heroes.  
  
"Speak proper like what I do," said Aragorn, "for I am King of Men, and really groovy. I know elves, here's one, look." Legolas simpered. "I have an awful lot of names, which I won't go into," Aragorn continued, "but anyway, wassup?"  
  
"Lots of nasty stuff has been going on." Said the chief Rider, who was a bit of a rude bugger. "By the way, I'm Eomer son of Eomund."  
  
"I'm sorry to hear it." Said Aragorn. "Get well soon."  
  
"No, no, that's my name. Anyway, as I was saying, bad tidings. People keep buggering off with our horses…first Boromir son of Denethor…"  
  
"I know him." Said Aragorn.  
  
"Then this old bloke called Gandalf…he ran off with one too…"  
  
"We know him as well."  
  
"Then you are horse-thieves!" Cried Eomer.  
  
"No!" Replied Aragorn, jumping back in fear, and preparing to run away should it become necessary, "we are looking for some hobbits, have you seen them?"  
  
"What the fuck's a hobbit?"  
  
"Sort of little people."  
  
"Those are dwarves."  
  
"Not dwarves, cuter." Said Aragorn, and Gimli glared at him.  
  
"Sorry, not seen any of those."  
  
"They would probably have been holding hands."  
  
"Oh, kinky, eh?" Said Eomer (A/N Kudos to the late great Spike Milligan for this phrase). "No, sorry, no hobbits here. But we could do with your help in fighting the forces of darkness, mate."  
  
"Later." Said Aragorn. "First we must find our hobbits." And the Trio wandered off into a wood.  
  
"Ah, the green smell!" Cried Legolas (original Tolkien dialogue ladies and gentlemen)  
  
"What the fuck is he on?" Demanded Gimli and Aragorn. Nothing more happened for a while and then,  
  
"Shit! Someone's nicked our horses!"  
  
"Was it Boromir or Gandalf?" Asked Aragorn laconically. 


	2. So there's this load of ugly buggers

A/N Sorry it's taken so long to update! I got sidetracked with other tales and…well, final exams :-) But finally here it is, the unawaited second chapter of 'Some Towers'  
  
So there's this load of big ugly buggers…  
  
Pippin and Merry, the poor little hobbits, had been kidnapped by some ugly buggers the name of which sounded like an obscure ancient Japanese war cry.  
  
"I don't like this much." Said Pippin to Merry. The pair were being carried over the shoulders of two Ugly-Buggers.  
  
"Neither do I." Hissed the ironically named Merry. "I don't know about your Ugly-Bugger but mine really stinks. D'you think we should buy him some deodorant?"  
  
"He'd probably eat it." Replied Pippin.  
  
"Shut up, yer bastards!" Roared the Head Ugly, who was called UglyFúk. "Or I'll grill yer bollocks n' feed 'em to me lads!" The Uglies of course spoke Common Speech so the Hobbits could understand. They reverted to their own language shortly afterwards.  
  
"Grrdly bling-blonl ththdgd ggggggggghhhh?" Asked an Ugly-Bugger, the one carrying Merry.  
  
"Gerrity babdab alals thosis-smell." UglyFúk growled in reply.  
  
"Ghdhege doggjs njednnsj flffje nerd jfjdja dlfoe snodgrass." Snarled the first Ugly. This dialogue translated roughly as:  
  
"You're a wanker!"  
  
"Watch yer tongue, bastard, or I'll shove my scythe up yer arse!"  
  
"Piss off!"  
  
The Ugly who had spoken was in fact Shagrabbit, a cousin of Shagrat, one of Morecambe's - or rather Mordor's - Ugly-Buggers. They were related through a well-known and respected Ugly called Shagmonkey, son of Shagdog. Shagrabbit was extremely uppity and not likely to be quelled by threats of having something inserted where the sun didn't shine.  
  
"Come on then, yeh bugger!" Snarled UglyFúk, brandishing his scythe, when Shagrabbit refused to stop griping. Shagrabbit said a naughty word, and throwing Merry to the floor, advanced on his leader.  
  
Pippin's Ugly dropped him too and joined in the squabble. While bits of Ugly flew everywhere, and UglyFúk screamed in rage, the little hobbits slipped between the Uglies' hairy legs and ran away.  
  
"Phew!" Said Pippin. "I'm glad to be away from that stench."  
  
"Right on." Said Merry. "Let's have some lembas crumbs before we face the next stage of our exciting adventure."  
  
"There's a next stage?" Moaned Pippin…  
  
Interlude: The Green Room  
  
Meanwhile in the Green Room Gandalf the Gay, now Gay no longer but wearing a gown of white fresh from the closet, was preparing for his dramatic return.  
  
"Now then…" he murmured, checking the script, "where do I start? Aha…minor amnesia…more long flashbacks…Gandalf the Straight…scare the shit out of the Dwarf…excellent."  
  
"Gandy!" A voice called behind him. "Are they back yet? I've got the booze."  
  
"Boromir, we can't have the post-adventure party yet, they've got two books still to go! And I've got to get back, anyway, my Dramatic Return is coming up."  
  
"Oh." Boromir was crestfallen. "I'll be here on my own, then."  
  
"Sorry. We'll be with you shortly."  
  
"Can't I come?"  
  
"No. The audience would get confused. They saw you killed, remember?"  
  
"I could come back as my own twin brother, you know, like the bloke in 'Allo 'Allo."  
  
"I think not. Your real brother Faramir wouldn't appreciate it. Remember *he* gets to be hard and cool in this movie."  
  
"Oh, very well." Boromir sighed. And Gandalf the Straight departed once more for Middle-Earth.  
  
End of interlude.  
  
The hobbits were washing their gross hairy feet in a river when an enormous tree came and grabbed them from behind.  
  
"Hroom, hroom!" It said.  
  
"By God, a giant vacuum cleaner!" The hobbits screamed.  
  
"I am an Ent."  
  
"A what?"  
  
"An Ent."  
  
"Er…right you are. Pardon me though, but aren't you a tree?"  
  
"Hroom, hroom! Urgh! Grunt. Yes, I am a talking tree. You may call me Treebeard."  
  
"Not just 'talking tree'."  
  
"No. Now, hroom, hroom, what are you funny little things? Wait, let me recall the old poem:  
  
'There were some Elves ancient and groovy  
  
Most of which are in the movie  
  
There were some Dwarves scruffy and surly  
  
And also Men who're thick but burly  
  
And there were Ents, the talking trees  
  
With great long trunks but no real knees' Hroom, hroom!"  
  
"You'll have to add some lines." Said Pippin. 'And also hobbits play a role/short of arse but deep of hole.'"  
  
"Hroom, hroom! What bad poetry." Said Treebeard and took them off to have some tea. As they sat around, and Treebeard stood in the rain like a loony, the Ent told the Hobbits the story of the lost Entwives, in the form of yet another poem.  
  
ENT: When Spring unfolds the beechen leaf, and sap is in the bough;  
  
When light is on the wild-wood stream, and wind is on the brow;  
  
When stride is long, and breath is deep, keen air the mountain brags;  
  
Come back to me! Come back to me, because I need a shag!  
  
ENTWIFE: When Spring is come to garth and field, and corn is in the blade;  
  
I'll stay right where I am and you will never more get laid;  
  
Won't clean your house or cook your tea or even darn your britches;  
  
'Cos when we get to the crux of it, we Entwives are real bitches!  
  
" And that," said Treebeard sadly, "is why all Ents are gay…hroom, hroom!"  
  
  
  
A/N Sorry for the short chapter, more soon :-) Review please!? 


	3. So there's this live wizard

A/N Thanks for everyone who has so far reviewed the freaky little sequel to my freaky little story! Here comes chappy Three…Note to Ripper: thanks for your continued encouragement ;-) 'Says so in the scriptures…' by God, now I have to include some sort of reference to Obadiah, so the second Green Room scene is 'specially for him, and for you!  
  
So there's this live wizard…  
  
"My bones're cold." Remarked Gimli, rubbing himself in an attempt to stay warm.  
  
"Yeurgh! I did not wish to know that." Aragorn muttered, but Legolas looked on with interest.  
  
"You know, while we're pissing about here Pippin and Merry are probably being skinned alive and buggered." The Elf remarked after a while. "Shouldn't we actually *look* for them rather than sniffing the ground and sleeping?"  
  
"You mean the film's started?" Asked Aragorn, surprised. "I thought we were still on our lunch break…"  
  
Legolas rolled his eyes, then his nose for variety. "Come on, you lazy creatures!"  
  
Man, Elf and Dwarf resumed their search for the Hobbits. All they found however was an ugly orcish knife and some random costume jewellery. It was most disheartening. Worst of all, they kept seeing visions of an old man, who stole their horses, flicking the Vs at them as he did so.  
  
"Saruman!" Cried Gimli, having a Dwarvish flid. "He's come for us!"  
  
"Oh, chill out, shortarse." Aragorn scoffed. "If that old crumbly is all we have to worry about, we're in clover!"  
  
"With all due respect, bollocks to that, and I don't like the look of these trees much either…Legolas!"  
  
The Elf had wandered over to one of the suspect trees and was hugging it tenderly.  
  
"Bloody Elf hippie." Muttered Gimli darkly. "You wait 'till it hugs back!"  
  
--Meanwhile in the Green Room--  
  
"Thought you'd left ages ago, Gandy!"  
  
"I forgot my beard conditioner. Never go to Middle-Earth without it. What exactly are you doing?" Gandalf the Straight watched in consternation as his companion, Boromir the Brave-but-slightly-Schizophrenic, took a gulp of lager from a bottle on the table before him, quickly moved to another chair, and took a swig of bitter from a pint glass.  
  
"I'm having a post-production party." Replied Boromir. "On my own…" he added sadly, and a sympathetic  
  
"Aww…." Came from the crew.  
  
"Hum." Mused Gandalf, stroking his newly conditioned beard. Perhaps being the first character to get killed off was starting to get to Boromir's self-esteem?  
  
"But don't worry about me," the Man continued, "I'm going to watch the Oscars in a minute…"  
  
"Fair enough." Gandalf, re-assured, departed once more for Middle-Earth.  
  
He had just arrived near Fangorn and was preparing to spring his appallingly ill-timed return from the dead on the bemused hobbit-seeking trio, who were still acting (just about), when a scream from the semi- closed vortex made him jump.  
  
"Oh, Valar, what's he doing *now*…" And Gandalf the Straight was drawn back to the Green Room once more.  
  
Upon arriving, a strange scene met his eyes. Boromir was sitting huddled in a chair, whimpering, while on the floor before him lay a fizzing, broken television set, covered in lager and shattered glass.  
  
"What has happened?" The wizard demanded. "Has there been an attack?"  
  
"The…the…" Boromir pointed helplessly at the destroyed TV set. "Russell Crowe…" he whispered, weakly. Gandalf grabbed a copy of Middle-Hollywood magazine from the coffee table and swiftly scanned the Oscar results.  
  
"Valar…" he breathed. "This is terrible…a great shadow is coming…a great evil has descended over Middle-Earth in the form of a panel of judges…"  
  
Boromir whimpered.  
  
"Does this mean…does it mean…"  
  
"What, my child?" Whispered Gandalf, staring in horror at the three dreadful words… 'A Beautiful Mind'.  
  
"Does it mean They think Russell Crowe is…*sexier* than me?" Boromir buried his face in his hands. Gandalf the Straight placed a tender hand upon his shoulder.  
  
"No, no…" he soothed. "It means They think he's sexier than Aragorn."  
  
"Thank the Valar!" Gasped Boromir. "But still, it is greatly shameful to me. I have failed. The White City will fall…"  
  
He really is losing it. Thought Gandalf. I cannot, in good conscience, leave him here alone… Inspiration struck. Grabbing his mobile phone Gandalf the Straight dialled a number, barked commands into the mouthpiece, and moments later the Green Room vortex opened to reveal a tall dark figure.  
  
"You called, Gandalf?"  
  
"Who…who's this, Gandy?" Whimpered the cowering Boromir.  
  
"This man has come to help you. He is a psychotherapist. His name is Doctor Douglas. Be not afraid." Doctor Douglas meanwhile had spotted Boromir. He lunged forward with a scream of rage.  
  
"You bastard, what have you done with my *daughter*…!?" Boromir shrieked and hid behind Gandalf. Gandalf looked again at his watch.  
  
"Sorry, have to run, love. Don't worry, the nice doctor will take care of your psychotic episodes and excessive histrionics, and you'll be back to your beer-swilling, woman-shagging, hard bastard self in no time. TTFN!" And with that singularly camp farewell, Gandalf the Straight departed, finally, for Middle-Earth.  
  
--End of interlude--  
  
"I…was bo-orn…under a wan-drin' star…"  
  
"Do you think it'd affect the plot much if we killed him?" Legolas asked Gimli, after three hours of listening to Aragorn sing.  
  
"Sadly yes." The dwarf replied. "Don't forget, he's the 'King of men and really groovy'."  
  
"Yah…but do they really *need* a king? Why not go Republican?"  
  
"Well, look at all the trouble they got into without a king." Gimli reminded the girly Elf. "bloodshed and battles and psychotic stewards…look at the way Boromir turned out for Durin's sake! You think we need any more like that?"  
  
"You think we need any more like Aragorn?"  
  
"…under a wan-drin' star…"  
  
"Ai! If only he knew the next line." Sighed Legolas mournfully.  
  
"What's that?"  
  
"Well *I* don't know, stupid dwarf! I am no connoisseur of Men's musical tastes!"  
  
"No, that in the bushes?"  
  
"Bushes?" Legolas pricked up his pointy ears, then eared up his pointy prick for variety. "Ooh…interesting things can happen in bushes!"  
  
But Gimli was on his feet, stumping short-arsedly over to a small grove.  
  
"Urk!" He cried.  
  
"wan-drin'…eh?"  
  
"It's Saruman!" Gimli howled, having another dwarvish flid. "Saruman the psychedelic! Help! Help! He's going kill our women, eat our children, and bugger us to death! Help! Help!"  
  
"What a way to go!" Exclaimed Legolas hopefully. He stiffened his bow.  
  
"Shoot the bastard!" Screamed the dwarf, dancing about hysterically. "Shoot him! Shoot him! Argh! Argh!"  
  
"Hang on a minute…" interrupted Aragorn, but no one paid him any attention. Peering carefully over the bush, Aragorn confirmed his friend's fears: there, before them in all his horror, was an elderly white haired wizard, his posture one of fearsome evil: he was standing awkwardly with his robes pulled up around his waist, his hands gripping his mighty staff.  
  
"I think he's just having a piss." Remarked the King with a shrug. Gandalf, for truly it was he, looked up in surprise, splashing it all over himself.  
  
"Ah, shit…oh! There you are."  
  
Legolas let fly an arrow with a cry of astonishment.  
  
"Christ!" Yelled Gandalf. "Watch where you're shooting that bloody thing!"  
  
"Mithrandir! Mithrandir!"  
  
"It was nearly Mithrandir the Dickless wonder. You ought to be more careful with that bow, elf boy. I don't want to get to the Grey Havens and be awarded the DSO*."  
  
"Sorry, Gandy. Wow, it's good to have you back."  
  
"You're all white!" Exclaimed Gimli, extracting himself from Aragorn's trousers, in which he'd been hiding, to the Ranger's distress.  
  
"Yes, I'm perfectly all right, thank you."  
  
"No, no, I mean, all white! All *in* white! What happened to the grey?"  
  
"Aha! Simple." Replied Gandalf. "I discovered Aerial washing powder."  
  
"Just a minute," put in Aragorn with the unvarying slowness of his race, "weren't you dead?"  
  
"Yes…and no."  
  
"Well?"  
  
"Well?"  
  
"What happened, Gandy?" Snapped Legolas impatiently. "We're all *dying* to hear."  
  
Gandalf sat upon the ground. Legolas, Aragorn and Gimli sat in a semi- circle around him. Aragorn offered round popcorn.  
  
"It is a tragic tale involving many flashbacks." Began Gandalf. "I fell for a long, long time…the Balrog fell with me. At last I landed, helpless and naked…"  
  
"Right!" Aragorn got quickly to his feet. "That's all we need to hear, I think. On with the Quest. Come on boys!"  
  
"Aww…" complained Legolas, but Gimli was already running very fast in the opposite direction. Gandalf snorted.  
  
"Well, if you don't want to hear my story, sucks to you! I'm off to Edoras, and you lot should be on your way there as well. You can ride some slower horses; I'm off on Shadowfart. Screw you lot of unfeeling bastards!" And with that Gandalf the Straight was away, leaving the others to trot along unhappily on a set of scruff y donkeys.  
  
Gandalf travelled so much faster than the others on Shadowfart that he had time to stop off at the Green Room, to see how Boromir's psychotherapy was going, on the way.  
  
--Interlude: Green Room 2--  
  
When Gandalf arrived therein, a strange and disturbing sight once more met his eyes. Boromir was evidently feeling better, for he was chasing Doctor Douglas around the Green Room with a sword.  
  
"Keep still, yer bugger!" The mighty warrior roared.  
  
"Not on your nelly!" Came the reply. Boromir stopped for a moment, panting, and came over to Gandalf.  
  
"'Lo, Gandy. Any notion of how to kill this bastard? I've tried everything: throwing him in a pit of Balrogs, walking an Oliphaunt over him, hanging him, chasing him over the hills with a complete company of riflemen…"  
  
"You could just try shooting the bugger."  
  
"Good idea!" Boromir snapped his fingers. Enthusiastically, a group of extras began tying the squirming psychotherapist to a stake. Boromir quickly assembled a firing squad consisting of cameramen and grips.  
  
"Right lads! One, two, three…" Doctor Douglas was bombarded with fifty bullets. Riddled with shot he slumped against the stake, but promptly stood up again screaming:  
  
"I…cannot…die!"  
  
Boromir rolled his eyes.  
  
"Back to the drawing board…" he growled, but there was a gleam of happy purpose in his eyes.  
  
The psychotherapy was working wonders.  
  
  
  
  
  
Dick Shot Off. Kudos to the wonderful Spike Milligan for this.  
  
A/N The line 'skinned alive and buggered' comes from 'Bottom'. 


	4. So there's this ancient king, and some p...

A/N The mildly awaited continuation of Some Towers. Thanks to all my reviewers, as always, you beautiful beautiful darlings!  
  
Gandalf the Straight, Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli the short-arse arrived at their destination, Edoras, three weeks after they departed; that was the standard duration of a Middle-Earth Emergency Pub-crawl. They dismounted their donkeys and Shadowfart, making their way to the weapons depository.  
  
"You will leave your articles of war here." The receptionist told them. Legolas shrugged and handed over his bow, his knife and some lethal curling tongues. Gimli laid down his axe, but their host was suspicious and bade the dwarf walk through a metal detector. As the device beeped wildly, Gimli reluctantly removed a knife from his boot, a broadsword hidden beneath his armour, a stiletto from his underpants and finally a submachine gun concealed in his beard. Aragorn handed over his sword.  
  
"Don't fret, Roger." He told it soothingly. "You'll be back with me, hacking Sauron's armies to pieces, soon enough."  
  
Gandalf was made to put down his staff, and immediately fell over.  
  
"Would you part an old man from his support?" Demanded Aragorn.  
  
"We don't want his corset." The receptionist replied curtly, storing Gandalf's staff in a timelocked safe with the other items. "We're all suspicious bastards here."  
  
"Let us get the fuck on with it." Snapped Gandalf, affronted.  
  
"Just a moment," the receptionist held up a hand, "do you have anything to declare?"  
  
"Nothing except my genius." Growled Gandalf, and stalked off.  
  
"Um…yes," said Aragorn. "I'm the King of Gondor. Nearly."  
  
"I'm an elf!" Simpered Legolas prettily.  
  
Everyone looked at Gimli expectantly.  
  
"I'm slightly cross-eyed." The dwarf announced eventually, after some moments of thought.  
  
"Very well. You may go in."  
  
What was left of the Fellowship - remember them? - made their way to the Golden Halls where Theoden-King, or even King Theoden, was sitting on a throne looking very crumbly.  
  
"Who's this old fart?" Demanded Gimli.  
  
"This is Theoden, the bloke we've come to see."  
  
"Ah. Sorry."  
  
Aragorn, leaning forward, spoke very loudly and directly into Theoden's ear trumpet.  
  
"HELLO YOUR MAJESTY! WE'VE COME TO SPEAK WITH YOU!"  
  
"Eh?" Quavered the elderly royal.  
  
"WE'VE COME TO SPEAK TO YOU!"  
  
"We don't want any." Replied Theoden. "We ordered some last week."  
  
"WE ARE NOT DOOR-TO-DOOR SALESMEN!" Bawled Aragorn. "WE COME TO SEEK YOUR AID AGAINST THE ENEMY!"  
  
"Are you Jehovah's Witnesses?" Asked the old king querulously. Aragorn sighed and gave up. Over to Gandalf.  
  
"Wormtongue." Gandalf turned to an ugly little git with a horribly deformed tongue sitting at the King's feet. "This is the King's translator." Gandalf explained to the others. "Tell him," he instructed Wormtongue, "that we offer our regards and come to seek his aid."  
  
Wormtongue turned to address Theoden and communicated Gandalf's words by a series of gestures. But Legolas, who was watching closely, objected,  
  
"He didn't say what you told him to."  
  
"What did he say then, Master Elf?" Legolas peered more closely,  
  
"He said:  
  
'The grey git says that you are a deaf old fool with less charisma than a hedgehog. We should have him killed!"  
  
that isn't very nice, is it?"  
  
"No, Legolas, it is not. Tell him properly!" Gandalf roared, rounding on Wormtongue. "Say this: your servant is an awkward little toerag who pours poison into your ears constantly, whereas your guests are noble and honourable and merely wish you to sacrifice your life and many of your people to defeat Sauron, Q.E.D."  
  
"And make sure you say it properly, git," quoth Aragorn, "or I'll rip that weird tongue of yours right out of your head."  
  
The servant quavered, but repeated Gandalf's words accurately enough.  
  
"I have been blind!" Wailed Theoden. "Bugger off, Wormtongue. I will place my faith in this random collection of bedraggled travellers instead. Forgive my suspicions, friends. Welcome to my court."  
  
"Thanks." Said Aragorn.  
  
"Eh?"  
  
"THANKS!"  
  
"What?"  
  
"I said THANKS! THANK YOU!"  
  
"Spank me? Why would you want to do that?"  
  
"Oh my God." Muttered the Ranger. It was going to be a long war…  
  
--Meanwhile, in the Green Room--  
  
"Hello, Mr. Potato, how are you today? 'Very well, thank you, my Lord, and how are you?' Well, I was killed by the Uruk-Hai at one point but apart from that I'm having quite a nice life, thanks, although I'll never be the King of Gondor because SOME BASTARD HOBO RANGER STOLE MY COUNTRY! But, well, that's all right, I'm sure he'll make a very good King, and after all my father is the Steward and my brother after him…so that's fine…EXCEPT I'LL NEVER BE STEWARD BECAUSE SOME BASTARD SHOT ME THREE TIMES WITH A BLOODY GREAT BOW AND THERE'S A BY-LAW FORBIDDING DEAD PEOPLE FROM HOLDING THE POST! But apart from that, really, I'm having a lovely day."  
  
Two cameramen had been listening in on the conversation Boromir was having with his potato salad. One shook his head in a sympathetic sort of way.  
  
"I think the loneliness is getting to him. Can't be easy, stuck here on his own with just the crew for company."  
  
"I agree. He needs other actors to play with." Replied Camera 2.  
  
"Maybe we should release him into the wild, find him a nice period drama to live in."  
  
"Hmm."  
  
Meanwhile Boromir was chatting away to his food again.  
  
"I wonder where Gandy's got to. I wonder what my brother's doing. Apparently he gets to be cool and hard in this movie. I wish I could be cool and hard in this movie. I was very good in the last one, wasn't I, Mr. Potato? 'Yes, of course you were, my Lord, you were the best one in it and very sexy.' Thank you, Mr. Potato, you know more that the film critics after all. I suppose you watch a lot of television, don't you? Does that make you a Couch Potato? Ha ha ha! Sorry. Yes, I enjoyed the movie, although if they'd done it my way I could have BEEN IN ALL THREE BLOODY FILMS, GOT THREE TIMES THE PAYCHECK AND BECOME KING AT THE END! But I'm not bitter, not bitter at all. Am I, Dr. Douglas?"  
  
The psychotherapist, tied to an enormous stake in the middle of the room, gagged, and full of bullet holes, replied,  
  
"Mmmph mmpph mmphh!", squirming in his bonds, eyes rolling wildly above the gag.  
  
"Exactly, I quite agree. I'm over all that bitterness-inferiority complex-Oedipus complex-desire for murderous revenge now, aren't I?"  
  
"Mmmph mmmph!"  
  
"And it's all thanks to you." Said Boromir happily.  
  
"Mmph!"  
  
"So maybe I should reward you by letting you go."  
  
"Mmph?"  
  
"But I'm not going to."  
  
"Mmmphh mmph mmmph!"  
  
"That was funny." Giggled Boromir. "I've decided, I like being insane. No more goody-two-shoes French-killing-mute-woman-shagging-saving-the-life- of-the-Duke-of-Wellington parts for me. I'm going to play psychos from now on. I'm good at that. I made a magnificent Bond villain, didn't I, Mr. Potato? And if I ever see Lady Chatterley again, I'll bite her head off."  
  
At that moment Gandalf took it upon himself to return.  
  
"Thought I'd update you," the wizard said, stepping through the vortex. "We've met Theoden and…oh dear, what's happened now?"  
  
"Everything's fine." Said Boromir happily. Gandalf eyed the congealed potato salad suspiciously.  
  
"Why don't we throw this away, eh? It looks a bit foul."  
  
"NO!" Boromir roared, grabbing the plate. "It's MINE! I found it." He stroked the potato salad lovingly. "My precious…" he murmured.  
  
"Ah…ha." Mused Gandalf, stroking his beard.  
  
"Mmph mmph mphh!"  
  
"Good grief! Dr. Douglas! Let me get you down from there." Gandalf untied the psychotherapist, who, with a scream, fled. Boromir burst into tears.  
  
"My therapist escaped!"  
  
"Don't worry," soothed Gandald, "we'll get you another therapist."  
  
"And a potato salad?" Sniffled the great warrior.  
  
"Yes, and a potato salad."  
  
"And a six pack of Carlsberg?" Boromir purred.  
  
"Er…yes, all right."  
  
Boromir smirked. The wizard was distracted. Now was his chance! Shoving Gandalf aside, Boromir threw himself through the vortex with a cry of triumph.  
  
King Theoden appeared rather surprised when the big man with the enormous horn (mended though it was with tape) fell screaming from the ceiling and landed on several courtiers, killing them instantly.  
  
"Ha!" Cried the interloper, leaping to his feet. Lunging forward he grabbed Legolas and put a knife to his throat.  
  
"Got your elf!" He told Aragorn, tauntingly. "What you gonna do about it, Ranger-boy?"  
  
"Boromir!" Gasped Aragorn. "But you…you…went to the Green Room!"  
  
"Well, I'm back, live with it, scruffbag. And if you want your girly elf back you're going to have to meet my demands."  
  
At that moment Gandalf emerged from the vortex, landing on Theoden, who looked more baffled than ever.  
  
"Wait, Boromir! Do nothing foolish!"  
  
"Sod off, Gandy, this is my limelight. Well, scruffy, are you ready to deal?"  
  
"I think it highly ironic for you to call *me* 'scruffy'," replied Aragorn snottily, "but since we need someone who can shoot a barn door at more than seven paces, I'm willing to listen."  
  
Boromir drew back slightly, holding on to Legolas, who whimpered,  
  
"He's hurting my *hair*, Aragorn! Give him whatever he wants!"  
  
"My first demand is this," Boromir told the Ranger. "I want to be the King of Gondor."  
  
"That's impossible. The Tolkien fans would not allow it."  
  
Boromir looked unhappy, but had to accept the logic.  
  
"Very well…my second demand is this: I want Frodo's ring!"  
  
"That's impossible. The Elijah Wood fans would not allow it."  
  
Again, it was impossible to argue.  
  
"Well then," Boromir went on, and now his voice trembled, "what I want…all I really ever wanted…what I want is…"  
  
"What is it, Boromir?" Aragorn asked, gently.  
  
"An Oscar!" The warrior wailed. "dammit, I want an OSCAR! I got made into a pin-cushion by the Uruk-Hai. I tolerated the scruffy one kissing me. I carried hobbits all over the place. I said the cool line about the cave troll. I was the main plot device for the first movie. I was rude to Elrond, for God's sake! I SUFFERED for that movie! And all I got out of it was an Elvish tattoo! Well it's not enough, dammit! I WANT AN OSCAR! And your paycheck." He added in an aside to Aragorn.  
  
The room was very quiet. Then Gandalf spoke softly.  
  
"You poor, hapless, under-appreciated man. Though They-in-Power may not grant it, still you shall be given what your heart desires so much. The Americans won't give you an Oscar, Boromir. Thus…you can have one of mine."  
  
There was silence for a moment, and then…the room erupted with applause. Boromir released Legolas and threw himself into Gandalf's arms.  
  
"I love you, Gandy." Gandalf patted his shoulder awkwardly.  
  
"I'm sorry I hurt your hair, Legolas." The warrior sniffled, drawing back.  
  
"Don't worry about it," the elf replied. "It's just a wig, anyway."  
  
Boromir smiled at him.  
  
"Please," said Theoden-King into the tumult, "what is going on?"  
  
"Shut it, granddad." Gimli growled.  
  
And equally softly, lost in a sea of cheering voices, another voice spake,  
  
"But he's bloody *not* getting my paycheck…" 


	5. So there's this fight against the Uglies

A/N Bloody hell, here we go again... Thanks for the reviews, everyone, of the last bizarre chapter, departing as it did from any resemblance to the true plot. And why not? And thanks to The Evil Old Woman - bless 'er - for pointing out that poor Sir Ian doesn't have his own Oscar. Luckily, Boromir doesn't know that - yet ;-) Anyways I'm utterly disgusted to discover that one of our greatest actors has been denied recognition so I'm forming a society:   
  
GIMAONYB  
  
Give-Ian-McKellen-An-Oscar-Now-Yer-Bastards.  
  
Who wants to join? We'll storm the next Oscars ceremony and stick the nut on some smarmy gits.  
  
The story really does start in a minute, honest. But first, another A/N: This part is dedicated to RIPPER, who kicks my arse when I fail to update regularly, and sends me brilliant songs. THANK YOU! And as for Bory - yeah, he can stay, y'can keep him, just remember to give him his six pack of lager every three hours and let him watch the football...   
  
Massive apologies for the failure to update for such a ridiculously long time. There were reasons; won't go into them now, but there were. Finally today came when I picked up my copy of LOTR from the bookshelf and thought, 'yes, this is the time'. About bloody time, in fact.  
  
  
On with the show...  
  
So the non-hobbit members of the fellowship were thus united by the unexpected descent from an empty ceiling of Boromir son of Denethor. Happy and completely docile now he had an Oscar, Boromir was pleased to tag after the company, drinking lager. Eventually Aragorn decided it was time he did something useful, and since Gimli was sick of riding a horse with Legolas, who kept groping him, they saddled Boromir and Gimli rode him, instead.  
With difficulty, Theoden was persuaded that everyone should go to Isengard; the difficulty was not in the persuasion itself but in making the crumbly old git understand what was being said.  
"Fire-guard? What would I want a fire-guard?"  
"Isengard, your ancient kingliness, you know, *Isengard.*"  
"You're a Bard? What's that supposed to mean? We don't want any writers here!"  
It wasn't until Boromir stuck the sellotape-mended Horn of Gondor in Theoden's ear that the old man was able to comprehend Aragorn's frustrated attempts to speak with him.  
"Oh, *Isengard!* Why didn't you say so?"  
Preparations were made, and they had barely begun their journey when a scruffy soldier called Ceorl turned up and started making defeatist remarks about wolves; he cheered up on seeing Theoden-thing, however, and cried (nearly 100 percent original Tolkien dialogue, ladies and gentlemen),  
"Command me, Lord! And pardon me! I farted..."  
Theoden gave Ceorl a fresh horse - it bit him - and the company departed once more. Aragorn and Legolas rode in the van with Eomer; yes, he was a white van man! It was actually a butcher's van with 'Jack Jones, family butcher' written on the side. 'Butchering Ugly-Buggers since the first age' the legend beneath claimed.   
So after a while they ended up at Helm's Deep, and Legolas pretended he was actually doing something useful with that bow of his, simultaneously taking the piss out of Gimli. Gimli scowled at him, dismounted Boromir, and gave his 'horse' a can of lager.  
"Now, Boromir, you're technically supposed to be in the Green Room so I'm afraid you won't be able to do any fighting." Aragorn explained to the temporary beast of burden. "It might affect the plot, especially since you're the hardest bastard here and could probably take on Saruman's entire army and still have time to loot a nice present for the missus."  
"Fair enough." Said Boromir, cuddling his Oscar.  
"Right!" Cried Aragorn, addressing everyone else now. "Let's kill something!"  
"Guthwine!" Roared Eomer.  
"What?" Asked everyone. "Is he pissed?"  
"Guthwine! My sword! Guthwine for the Mark!"  
"Oh!" Exclaimed Aragorn, catching on. "Roger! Roger for the Dunedain!"  
"Carling black label for Sheffield United." Agreed Boromir, waving his lager, but as instructed he made no attempt to throw it at any Uglies. Why waste good booze?  
Unfortunately, Roger notwithstanding, the battle didn't go all that well and many of the important people in the story ended up barricading themselves in a toilet block.  
"Well," said Boromir with something of a return to his old pessimism, "we're buggered now."  
"Never give up hope!" Cried Gandalf the Straight, making an abrupt entrance into the parody. "Dawn is coming."  
"Who's she? Has she got nice tits?"  
"Dawn is the hope of all men!"  
"Woo-hoo!"  
Gandalf sighed. Making intellectual remarks to a son of Gondor was sometimes reminiscent of pissing in the wind. At least Faramir had half a brain - he could play the paper and comb - but where the fuck was he? Harassing Frodo, that's where, and we'll get to him shortly.   
"How in middle-earth are we supposed to get rid of all these Ugly-Buggers?" Aragorn wondered, lurking by the cistern.  
"You could get Ceorl to fart at them." Suggested Eomer.  
"No, let's just set Gimli on them."  
So for many hours Gimli tore orcs into little pieces. Legolas, somewhere above them, had given up on his long bow and was attempting to skewer the enemy with a nail-file.  
"Two dozen!" He cried triumphantly as Gimli emerged, panting, beside him.  
"Two dozen dead?" The dwarf cried.  
"Er...yes, yes, that was what I meant, of course." But in fact Legolas was referring to the number of times he had managed to wash his hair in the six hours or so Gimli had been axing orcs.  
Aragorn finally fought his way - or rather hid beneath an appropriate succession of corpses - to the citadel, where he harassed Theoden-thing.  
"It goes ill, my lord!"  
"Whose goose is ill?"  
Aragorn sighed.  
"Have you seen Eomer?" He asked, trying another tack.  
"Eh?"  
"Eomer! Eomer son of Eomund! Is he here?"  
"He most certainly is not queer! How dare you!"  
Aragorn was about to make an exasperated response when he spotted something remarkable.  
"Boromir? What are you doing in here?"  
"EH?" Bellowed Theoden.  
"Not you, granddad!" Snapped Aragorn. "I was talking to him!" He pointed to Boromir, who was sitting placidly at Theoden's feet. Theoden-thing stroked his head.  
"That's my doggy." The king explained.  
"Boromir, what are you doing down there?"  
"I got fed up of being Gimli's horse." Boromir explained. "Thought I'd try my hand at domestic canine instead. The food's better." He added, as Theoden gave him a biscuit. He licked the old man's hand.  
"Good doggy." Theoden told him.  
"...and you get a lot more affection. Old Theo appreciates me far more than you ever did."  
"Boromir, you are heir to the stewardship of Gondor, the greatest swordsman in middle earth, and clinically dead. I don't believe it's appropriate for you to be spending your time in the citadel with a crumbly, aged monarch, pretending to be a Great Dane."  
"Oh, I see." Boromir purred craftily. "You want my help, don't you? Orc killing not going well, is it? That girly elf let you down, has he? Ha! Well, I *might* think about it. Then again, I'm happy enough here. And you *did* tell me to stay out of the fighting. Supposed to be in the Green Room, aren't I?"  
"Boromir, you utter git, get on your feet immediately and start wielding your tremendous weapon!"  
"Oh, giving me orders now, are you? Well, you're not King of Gondor yet, Mr. Bossy Trousers."  
"Boromir," pleaded Aragorn, "those orcs are massacring us! And you're probably the only person in literature capable of walking onto a battlefield full of the enemy, completely alone except for a small, straggly group of thieves and drunks, outnumbered, out-weaponed, and entirely outranked, and coming out of it without a scratch! Er...except for the time with those orcs in the glade at Parth Galen. But I'm sure that was an exception. And you were schizophrenic at the time."  
Boromir was silent for a long moment, considering all that Aragorn had said.  
"Sod off." He replied.  
"WHAT?" Roared Aragorn.  
"Well, what's it to me if you lot get killed? You never loved me. You nagged me all the time, tried to pinch my country, and all I ever had was good intentions."  
"We gave you an Oscar!"  
"Gandy gave me an Oscar. Gandy's OK. It's the rest of you I can't stand."  
"Boromir, Gandalf could be killed in the battle. You'd never forgive yourself if that happened, would you? And - er - well, we can't have Saruman ruling Middle Earth. Or whatsit, for that matter - Sauron."  
"Oh, I'd forgotten Sourbum, or whatever he's called. What a bastard. All right, I'll do it."  
"Thank you, thank you from the bottom of my..."  
"For five thousand pieces of gold."  
"All right..."  
"And a six pack of lager."  
"Well...fine"  
"And Gondor."  
"Now wait a minute!"  
"Take it or leave it. I'd make a great king. I'm sexier than you."  
"Oh, Valar. Look, just go and get rid of the orcs, or nobody will end up having Gondor except Sauron. And he'll probably turn it into a toilet."   
"The same could be said of Wolverhampton, but I wouldn't turn that down either. Well then - to battle! Let's hunt some orc!"  
"That's my line!"  
"Say it then."  
"You're a movie out of date. I said that at the end of the last one. The audience will think we're running out of script."  
"All right, what about: 'let us depart from this place in order to render our foes efficiently in twain."  
"What the fuck does that mean?"  
"Buggered if I know, mate. Let's do it anyway!"  
So they did. 


	6. So there's Boromir's younger smarter bro...

A/N Yes, yes, yes. It has been a very long time since I updated. But on Sunday I finally saw The Two Towers!!! Hence, much more material to affectionately mock. Let's see what they did with the movie that was dodgy...  
  
Thanks to Ripper for the lovely poster and the kick up the arse ;-)  
  
A quick note on where we are at the moment:  
  
Aragorn and friends are helping Theoden-Thing hold the keep at Helm's Deep (hey that rhymes!), along with Boromir, who has taken a new post as Theoden's doggy. Pippin and Merry have escaped from the Ugly-Buggers and have encountered Treebeard, a gay Ent. Frodo and Sam are still wandering about near the gates of Mordor, and Faramir hasn't been in it yet...  
  
  
  
Chapter Seven: So there's Boromir's younger smarter brother...  
  
So Frodo and Sam were wandering through the hills being slashy and filled with angst. Well, Frodo was filled with angst; Sam was apparently too stupid. Frodo wasn't sleeping well, and they were almost out of Valium; the ring was getting heavy, and the hobbit had developed piles. Frodo was exhausted, even though Sam was carrying all the equipment, and occasionally Frodo himself.  
  
"I don't think Gandalf meant for this to happen." Sam commented.  
  
"Gandalf didn't mean for a lot of things to happen, Sam." Replied Frodo, with a sense of déjà vu.   
  
They were also hopelessly lost, being hobbits and having poor navigation skills. It was fortunate from one point of view, then, that they encountered Gollum, nee Smeagol, and made an attempt to tame him.  
  
"I don't like this, Mr. Frodo." whined Sam, who had suddenly become highly suspicious and cynical - perhaps he was imitating Aragorn. "I don't trust that funny CG character any further than I could throw him. Although, really I trust him a lot less far than I could throw him, 'cause I reckon I could kick him quite a long way."  
  
"Stop being such a meanie, Sam."  
  
"I'm not, Mr. Frodo. I tell you he's all wrong. His spine's all nobbly and he talks funny and he's got multiple personality disorder."  
  
"Yesssss." Said Smeagol.  
  
"Nooo." Said Gollum. "Nasty hobbitses."  
  
"Nicccee Massterssss." Corrected Smeagol.  
  
"You see?" Said Sam unhappily. "I don't like it, Mr. Frodo, that I don't."  
  
"Well, you'll have to lump it then, because Smeagol's coming with us, and he's going to show us the way to Morcambe - I mean Mordor. Isn't he?" Frodo said to Smeagol. "Isn't he, then? Yes, he is! Yes! Nice nobbly thing! Nice CG character!"  
  
"Sssstop patronissssing ussss." objected Smeagol, scowling.  
  
"Sorry." muttered Frodo. He stumbled along behind Gollum as the nobbly thing set out to fulfil his promise of taking them to Mordor.   
  
It was on the way, of course, following an abortive attempt to get inside Mordor's big black gates, that the little company met Faramir, Boromir's younger smarter brother. Smeagol had buggered off; Faramir disrespected Frodo, blindfolding him and Sam and dragging them off to a wine cellar in which he shut them.  
  
"We're buggered now, Mr. Frodo." Sam said unhappily.   
  
"Yes." Agreed Frodo with a sigh.  
  
And then they were taken to Captain Faramir. Not much like Captain Scarlet, more like Captain Mainwaring, but there you go.  
  
"You stupid boy." Said Faramir to Frodo, before he even asked his name. "What are you doing wandering about near the black gates of Mordor? You're obviously dodgy and we may have to kill you."  
  
Before Frodo could reply, however, Faramir suddenly twitched violently; his eyes turned grey, and he exclaimed,  
  
"Gosh! Aren't you cute and little? Aw! We ought to help them. Men, bring the little people some food and drink, while I cuddle them and sing to them, and make merry. I can play the paper and comb you know." He added to Frodo, who blinked.  
  
"Blimey." Groaned Sam. "Does everyone in this bloody parody have multiple personality disorder?"  
  
"I," said the grey-eyed Captain, "am Faramir as Tolkien wrote me. I am fluffy and full of love and the joys of spring. I write poetry, sing songs, play the paper and comb, hang around with Gandalf, and my daddy doesn't like me because I'm effeminate (sniff). I look like my brother (but you don't know that yet) which is no bad thing. Except I'm not much like him in personality; he likes weapons and lager and French women, but I'm going to get it on with a transvestite."  
  
A startled silence followed this little speech.  
  
"But now," Faramir went on sadly, "Peter Jackson has begun messing with my character...and I...can't...argh!"  
  
The captain's eyes turned a funny colour; he drew himself up to his full height and glared down at Frodo.  
  
"Do you know who I am?" Faramir demanded.  
  
"More to the point," said Little Frodo, "do *you* know who you are?"  
  
"I am Faramir of Gondor, second son of the Steward Denethor - and well, I guess I'm the heir now."  
  
"And?" asked Frodo.  
  
"And, you little moron, Boromir was my brother."  
  
"Oh, I see!! That's what you're doing in this film!"  
  
"Yes. No! I am a character in my own right. Tolkien did *not* create me just to make a somewhat obscure moral point. I am important to the plot, damn you!"  
  
"Sorry, Captain Faramir."  
  
"Humph. Anyway, I forgot to ask - who are you then?"  
  
"I'm Little Frodo of the Shire, and I used to hang out with your brother."  
  
"Really?" Growled Faramir. "It would interest you then to know that he has...gone to the Green Room."  
  
"The Green Room!?" gasped Frodo.  
  
"Aye. I saw him there myself, while I was getting my makeup touched up for this scene. He was talking to a potato salad and appeared utterly insane."  
  
"Runs in the family then." Muttered Sam.  
  
"Do you know, little things, how my brother happened to come to the Green Room?" wondered Faramir.  
  
"Well, it was his own fault for trying to steal Mr. Frodo's ring."  
  
"Ring!?"  
  
"Now you've done it Sam, you stupid tit." Muttered Frodo angrily.  
  
"Sorry sir." Sam mumbled.  
  
"Let's have a look." Faramir poked Frodo's chest with his sword, cutting the hobbit's braces by mistake. Frodo's trousers fell down, revealing things the Captain of Gondor did not wish to see. While Frodo attempted to pull up his breeches, Faramir grabbed the Ring of Power and peered at it closely.  
  
"Ha! With this I would be great, and no longer walk in the shadow of my larger brother!"  
  
Abruptly his face twitched and his eyes became grey again.  
  
"But I'm not a bad guy!" he wailed. "I love babies and fluffy bunnies and I loved my brother - literally, in some fanfics. If he made a mistake I'm not going to make the same one. I'm going to be nice to the little people and stop harassing them and give Frodo back his ring."  
  
Frodo sighed with relief, but it was short-lived, as would he be if they didn't get away from the clearly mental Faramir very, very quickly. The captain's eyes had already changed back again and he was twittering,  
  
"This ring could defeat Sauron and push back the shadow, and free Gondor! So I'm going to piss off with it."  
  
Twitch.  
  
"But Frodo is so cute and lovely and obviously he must be here for a reason. What did you plan to do with the ring, little one?"  
  
"I'm going to destroy it." Frodo muttered shiftily.  
  
"Yes! Yes, that is the only way...it is an evil thing this, and I'm so trustworthy...have it back."  
  
Twitch.  
  
"But, dammit, why waste this opportunity to be the king of men and really groovy? Give me the ring! We'll take it to my father, dodgy bastard though he is."  
  
Twitch.  
  
"Argh! Get out of my head, Peter Jackson! Frodo, I love you!" Boromir's younger, smarter, even madder brother declared, handing the ring of power back to the hobbit.  
  
"Ta." Said Frodo, struggling in Faramir's grip, as the twitching captain tried to kiss him and throttle him all at once.  
  
"You stop that, you dirty bleeder!" Cried Sam, dragging Frodo free. "He's mine! Er...I mean...the ring drove your brother mad! That's why he died! Being schizophrenic interfered with his ability to fight off ten thousand of the enemy all at once and come away without even a scratch!"  
  
"What?" twitched Faramir.  
  
"He's telling the truth!" exclaimed Frodo. "Let us go, Faramir, or meet the same fate of being driven mad by the ring...er..."  
  
"Oh, I doubt it had anything to do with the ring." Faramir replied cheerfully, grey eyed once more. "Schizophrenia runs in our family, you know. You wait till you meet my father. Anyway...you'd best get away from me and destroy the ring before I go apeshit again."  
  
Without further ado the little hobbits fled, leaving Faramir burbling about the prettiness of the flowers and how sparkly the gates of Mordor looked in the sunlight.   
  
  
A/N Short chapter. Review please!? 


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